𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 & 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳.

PROLOGUE

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9:20 a.m.

The male woke up at around 9:15. It was morning and the sun peaked through the blinds of the male's bedroom window. Greeting him awake to the new day ahead of him, the male had melanin skin specifically people would label it 'golden' when making contact with the sun.

The male had black dreadlocks that reached to the lower part of his back. He usually tucks it in a nice bun to keep it out of his face when he worked in his office. Well, for the time being until that annoying singular hair, cups the side of his face refusing to move.

His eyes were a dark brown, look closely, and they were an ocean of rich gold. With treasures that hold different stories and tales within them, he fixed his white shirt collar along with his black tie that blends in with his black suit vest and black pants, with black dress shoes.

His room wasn't messy, but it wasn't rather clean either due to the slight dust in the corners of his room, his bed creaked from time to time, and looked as if it was even unsure itself if it was going to collapse. Right across from his bed was his dark brown closet and right next to it was his dark brown desk

In front of the desk was the window that displayed the outside world, he didn't like outside but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever. On his desk, were scattered unfinished written stories from the peak of his imagination.

His mother, always told him it was okay to show his emotions and that he should never hide them. A man showing emotions equals strength is what he was told his mother also told him to continue with his dream of being an artist. He was a very colorful imaginative kid that enjoyed learning.

Right in the middle of his room, between his bed and the closet and the desk was a red rug with a golden design attached to it, making his room a bit more colorful, due to the brown color scheme. Right next to his bed, was a lampstand.

And that was pretty much it except for the small bookshelf across from him, and what secrets could be revealed from behind it, he exited his room, and shut the door calmly, entering the hallway, the smell of honey, lingered everywhere throughout the entire house the red carpet following along the ground,

The basic brown floor was boring without it, the walls were also brown and had a unique touch to them, being covered with his paintings or things from his childhood hung up with tape. Those things were childhood drawings he cherished to show to his future children.

The future generation his grandmother expected of him, that is.

He walked down the halls of his hallway and past the staircase moving the singular strand from his face, he was tall technically around 5'10 he seemed skinny and scrawny. He was pretty strong for his age he was 20 years old though he didn't feel like an adult or a teenager.

He made his way down the hallway, rubbing his arm, and sighed, being face to face with his office door. Though he suddenly remembered the letter his father wrote to him out of instinct he opens the door immediately.

Met with two bookshelves that ended the moment he was 10 seconds into the new atmosphere of the room, the honey smell continued but millions of bookshelves were in every corner of the room, except for his desk, he rushed over as he noticed the light from the candle in his later was slowly burning out.

If it weren't for the sun's light in the windows near the ceiling, the room would've been completely dark. Along with the candles on the tops of the shelves, he looked left and right, before seeing his other table across from him in another covered area surrounded by shelves.

He sees the matches laid out and scattered along with other books on the table, he takes the match and holds the middle with his left thumb and index finger before taking out a match with his free hand and walls over to his desk, he sits down looking at the scattered papers in front of him,

He then presses the head of the match against the striker, he quickly and swiftly drags the match down the striker, the sound of fire instantly lighting up his face. His features brighten up due to the small light source he then opens the lantern just in time for the candle to blow out he then carefully relights it.

His workspace was now a bit lighter as he smiles lightly. He places the box of matches at a far distance before looking down at the scattered mess in front of him, he searches for the specific letter before seeing a letter with the date from yesterday when he received it.

'Sept. 9th, XXXX'

"Ah. There we go." The male's tone was soft but also strong. He had a slight British accent it was noticeable but at the same time, not so revealing. He reads the note to himself,

'Sept. 9th, XXXX
  My dearest son
   I would like to know how you are holding up in New York City, you're aware that I & your mother, aren't so used to not having you under our custody anymore, so we may worry too much or send too many letters.
 
  Your sisters, Adwowa and May begged us to allow you to know about their presence on your permanent trip to the city. They kept pestering us every minute asking about you it was rather adorable yet, a little irritating at times,
  "Can you tell Rome we said, hello?" Is what was almost always in their vocabulary, in only two days.

    Please write back.

Sincerely, Michael Erics.'

Rome smiles and shakes his head, "I promise. I'll get back to you all when I have the chance." He speaks to himself his voice getting quieter as he glanced up towards the window.

"I promise."